


Rekindling

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the fire destroyed the county, everyone has managed to rebuild. At a track meet, all the local schools gather to compete and Bard finally gets the courage to introduce himself to someone he's had an eye on for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a mistake of epic proportions to carpool. At the time, it had seemed logical to scoop up the boys and their uncle what with them living so close by. A nice, neighborly thing to do. Until Thorin sat down in the passenger seat and Bard realized they had to fill the next hour with some kind of conversation. 

In the back of the van, Sigrid and Fili fell instantly into a deep discussion about college applications while Kili, Bain and Tilda began a furious competition of Pokemon trivia. Neither left room for Bard to make fatherly inquiries. 

“So how are things at work?” Bard settled on asking. He couldn’t exactly remember what Thorin did for a living, come to think of it. Shit. Was he unemployed? No. There was some kind of masonry business? 

“Rocky. You?” Thorin looked out the window apparently wholly uninterested in the answer. 

“Fishy,” Bard muttered. 

The idea of negotiating over the radio gave Bard the warning wave of a headache and he highly doubted he could convince Thorin to enjoy an audiobook. His children’s voices, layering in and over each other had been his sole soundtrack before and there were worse things to listen to. 

Even if Fili was apparently trying to convince Sigrid that going to an out of state college was perfectly all right. It was a shame, normally Bard liked Fili. He really didn’t want to have to kill him. 

“I don’t know where you think you’re headed,” Thorin said suddenly, startling Bard out of his slow boiling rage. “But it better be within reasonable driving distance.” 

“But-” Fili started. 

“No,” Thorin paused. “Unless you want me to send Kili to live with you. Because you know he’ll want to visit regularly and I’m hardly going to pay for the plane tickets. Just think of all the brotherly bonding time. You’ll have to work part time to support his appetite, of course-” 

“State school!” Fili said loudly. “Cheap! Very good education, I’ve heard.” 

Sigrid muffled a laugh. 

“Thank you,” Bard mouthed when he had Thorin’s eye. 

“It’s bad enough they keep insisting on growing up,” Thorin crossed his arms over his chest. “Then they want to go all over creation too.” 

“I’m going to go to school in Australia!” Kiil declared from the far back seat. “And study spiders! The huge poisonous kind.” 

“EWWWW!” Tilda screeched. 

“You like spiders,” Bain put in mildly. 

“Well,” Tilda sniffed, “not the big poisonous ones. The little cute kind.” 

“Your children are...strange,” Thorin frowned. 

“They’re unique,” Bard agreed. 

The rest of the ride went substantially better with Thorin and Bard arbitrating several arguments and then discussing the hardship of filling out endless FAFSA forms. It had been Bard’s assumption that since Thorin’s nephews went to a private school that there was money there, but apparently Blue Mountain Day School had a forgiving scholarship program for alumni’s children. 

“You grew up around here?” 

“Erebor,” Thorin sighed. “Before the fires.” 

“Yeah,” Bard shook his head. “Took my family home too.” 

“Blue Mountain has a good endowment,” Thorin went on and Bard was grateful that they didn’t linger on the subject. “Partly thanks to our family a generation back, so they took Fili and Kili. You’re happy with the public schools?” 

“For the most part. The high school has been the highlight. I almost pulled Bain from the elementary school. Too much bullying.” 

“Kili had a bad brush with that too. His mother taught him how to bite people which was an interesting take.” 

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Bard wouldn’t say that he liked Thorin much more than he had at the beginning of the ride, but he certainly had a little more respect for him. As soon as he turned off the engine, kids were spilling out of every door with all the energy of a shaken soda. 

Bard took his time. The days of obsessive monitoring of his children had ended as Sigrid grew taller than her mother had ever been and Bain started his driving lessons. Even Tilda didn’t need his constant vigilance anymore though she still wanted her father sometimes with that raw honesty of the young. He wasn’t sure what to do with the new time he had and some days, he felt entirely superfluous. 

“Dad,” Sigrid was at his side all at once, hair up in a high ponytail, “they changed one of the time slots. Bain has to run in like twenty minutes. He’s freaking out.” 

“Where?” He hurried and had to laugh at himself. Maybe not useless just yet. 

Getting Bain back into a good headspace took until the beginning of the heats. Sigrid had joined a crowd of laughing girls. He waved to one of the mothers who was keeping half an eye on the tight knot. The meet would last the better part of the day and Sigrid wouldn’t have to bother even changing clothes until after lunch for girl’s hurdles. 

“Over here!” Tilda waved wildly at him. “I saved you a seat.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he sat down beside her and dug a water bottle out of his bag. “Here, drink up. It’s only going to get hotter out here.” 

“Ugh,” she grumped, but took it and drank. 

The heats went well. Tilda didn’t dig out her book until after she’d cheered for Bain which would head off a potential squabble in the car. Once she was comfortably ensconced, Bard settled in to people watch until Sigrid and Bain appeared for lunch. 

He spotted Thorin readily enough, already integrated into a pack of other Blue Mountain parents. Relatives too, perhaps, given a certain semblance in height and hair. They were surreptitiously passing a flask between them though none of them seemed anything like drunk. They were a generally merry bunch, laughing a little too loudly and jostling each other. Only Thorin was quiet and Bard wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

Before he could be caught staring, he looked away and scanned the crowd for other figures of interest. He caught a few friendly glances and one speculative look from a pretty woman with dark hair, but he only waved. It was too pleasant a day to waste in idle small talk.

Ah. Bard’s gaze stopped on the object he had not realized he’d been seeking. It wasn’t as if he knew the man, the razor blade of a body tucked into grey trousers and silvery button down. Affixed to his chest was a small button in the Mirkwood Prep School’s colors and the meet’s schedule was tucked neatly in one hand instead of crumpled at the bottom of a bag like Bard’s. 

Bard had only ever seen him at events like this, never around town. Thanks to a sneaky bit of detection on Sigrid’s part ( “You keep staring at him, Dad, it’s weird. Your eyebrows go all funky.” ), he had a name, but not much more. Thranduil rarely sat at these events, preferring to take a station up near the finish line. It wasn’t hard to pair him with his son, even without the laser focus. Legolas couldn’t possibly belong to any other parent with that certain imperious set to their shoulders. 

Today, Bard watched an entire tiny drama unfold. He caught Thranduil just as his lips thinned into a tight line. Following his gaze, Bard saw Legolas approach a teammate. All the boy’s usual poise disappeared as the red headed girl flashed him a bright smile. They chatted and Thranduil’s schedule folded under the increased pressure. 

Which was when Kili came bounding up, face flushed and hair escaping every which way from his ponytail. He was already talking before he reached the girl’s side, apparently oblivious to Legolas’ very existence. And the girl turned her back on Legolas to listen. 

Bard looked to Thranduil. 

Thranduil’s eyebrows knit together and then smoothed into blankness. Bard wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

“Dad,” Sigrid appeared in his line of vision. “Tilda needs some ice cream.” 

“Tilda is lactose intolerant,” he reminded her. 

“Tilda is sitting right here,” Tilda muttered. 

“There’s Italian ice,” Sigrid amended. “Hey, did you remember to make her put on sunblock?” 

“Still right here.” 

“Of course, I did,” Bard sighed. “Who do you think got you to the wise age of seventeen without burning you to a crisp?” 

“Italian Ice,” she shifted idly on her heels. “Please?” 

“I did pack perfectly good snacks.” 

“Yeah, for after the meet when I’m going to need tons of protein. Right now, I just want to cool off.” 

Tilda’s attention had never left the book page, but Bard could sense her quivering interest. If Sigrid wanted to use her little sister as an excuse for treats that meant said little sister got to hang out with the glamorous high school girls. 

“One each, make sure you get something for Bain too,” he peeled cash out of his wallet and tried not to do the calculations in his head. Sigrid already lived far too frugally for her age, finding bargains before asking for new clothes and working as many hours as he’d allow to pay for things most kids took for granted. She knew that lunch would be the sandwiches they’d made together the night before with carefully rationed bulk bought snacks beside them. “Ask him what he wants, don’t guess.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” she took it with a smile and then turned to usher Tilda away. 

Thranduil was still standing near the fence looking murderous. The meet sponsor was doing their advertising over the speakers, pausing all events. Bard hadn’t paid much attention to the flyer his kids had thrust at him and the announcement was garbled. Gandalf’s Portent? Was that a hair product? 

There were worse conversation starters. Bard pushed himself up and before he could overthink it, moved to stand next to Thranduil. 

“Don’t suppose you know what a Gandalf is, do you?” 

“Pundit on the local news station full of storm and fury signifying nothing ,” Thranduil answered before looking over and taking Bard in. “You’re with...Laketown Public?” 

“Yep. Got two of mine in today. You?” 

“One, but I believe he has signed up for every conceivable race. I’ve seen you before...your daughter does hurdles and your son is a sprinter?”

“Yes,” Bard grinned. “Littlest isn’t interested. She’s eyeing drama club instead.” 

“Mine has a flair for drama without needing the stage,” Thranduil smiled faintly. “Though I’m told he comes by that honestly.” 

“We see the best and worst of ourselves in them,” Bard pointed to where Bain was leaning against a fencepost. “That one sometimes talks so like me at that age that I think was sent through time by my mother as revenge.” 

“Were you a runner?” 

“Not formally,” Bard shrugged. “No time for extra curriculars. You?” 

“Marathons. Then,” Thranduil gestured vaguely at his face. This close, Bard could make out faint scarring along the cheekbone, “the fire. Smoke inhalation did my lungs no favors.” 

Second time that day it had come up, Bard swallowed down the waiting grief which even with the patina of age could sneak up on him at the worst moments. He held up his right hand, the sheen of an old burn scar. 

“Put an end to a lot of things,” Bard said softly. 

“That it did.” 

They stood quietly together, watching a relay race that ended in a near tie. 

“I never introduced myself,” he blurted out. 

“Ah, neither did I,” Thranduil snorted. “A pair we make. Thranduil Greenleaf.” 

His hand was delicate looking, but his handshake was sure and strong. 

“Bard Bowman. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Pleasure to finally speak with you,” Thranduil agreed with the slightest tilt to his lips. “Instead of just catching your eye.” 

“Oh god,” Bard laughed. “I’ve got a bit of a people watching thing. I’m sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine,” Thranduil released his hand in stages. “I was rather enjoying the whole thing. Placed a few bets against myself about when you’d get up the nerve.” 

“That’s...only a little embarrassing,” Bard would’ve felt worse about it, except that Thranduil apparently hadn't minded the ogling. 

“Dad!” Tilda appeared at his elbow, her lips stained cherry red. “Sigrid can’t find her lucky shorts and she says you said that you put them back in her bag.” 

“They’re folded in under her other clothes.” 

“She looked there!” Tilda glanced over at Thranduil and her eyes went wide. “Sorry! I didn’t see you were talking, but Sigrid says-” 

“Just give me a second, honey. I’ll be right there, okay?” 

“Okay!” Tilda turned and ran off. 

“Got to go take care of that,” he said limply. 

“Here,” Thranduil reached into his pocket and withdrew a crisp white card. “If you wish to speak again, perhaps when there isn’t so much dividing our attention.” 

“Oh...oh!” Bard didn’t fight the smile that probably looked ridiculously wide. “I’d really like that.” 

“So would I.” 

Bard looked down at the card to escape Thranduil’s intense stare. 

“Hey! You’re one of my clients!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Greenleaf Vineyard. I do your delivery route. Dale Shipping?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t do much handling of the day to day running of things," there was a wry smile there taking the edge off the pretension, "I spend most of my time in the creation process. We’ve been doing whites for generations, but I’m bringing along a red now that I think might put us on the map.” 

“Haven’t actually ever had the pleasure of trying the stuff. Spend too much time getting it where it needs to go.” 

“Well, perhaps-” 

“Dad!” Sigrid shouted, sounding a little frantic. 

“They’re playing my song,” Bard squared his shoulders and forced himself to turn away. “I’ll call. Promise.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

The words were practically whispered and they clung in Bard’s ear for the rest of the day. They found Sigrid’s shorts, ate their lunches while Bain rattled through the highs and lows of the races, then the carefully planned afternoon so that Bard could pingpong between all the events without missing either child’s performance. Bain did well, but Sigrid surprised them all by breaking a local record. It was a whirlwind that left them all exhausted. 

“You were amazing!” Fili had been the first to the finish line and to Bard’s shock, his precious innocent little girl planted a kiss on the boy’s lips that clearly left him reeling. 

“Something I should know?” Bard asked when she finally made her way back to her family. 

“I don’t know,” her cheeks were a flaming red. “I like him. I think he likes me.” 

“Suppose you could do worse,” he couldn’t quite look at her, grappling with it. She’d never so much as gone on a date before, too caught up in playing mother no matter how much he tried to ease the burden. “You should ask him out.” 

“Dad!” 

“Fortune favors the brave,” he summoned up a smile and watched her embarrassment ease into excitement. 

“You think?” she half-turned back to where Fili was openly staring at her. “What if he says no?” 

“Then he’s an idiot and we can leave him here.” 

She laughed which was what he wanted and then danced away with a question on her lips which he was less sure of. 

“Where’s Siggy?” Bain turned up at last, hair plastered down from the showers. 

“Getting a date.” 

“You’re allowing that?” Bain frowned. 

“No allowing involved. She’s old enough to make her own choices.” 

The ride home was of an entirely different quality. In the far backseat, Kili and Bain fell asleep, their legs in a gangly pile in the middle. Tilda was perched behind the driver’s seat, her headphones leaking out violin while beside her, Fili and Sigrid sat crammed in tight together, not saying a word. Bard kept stealing glances in the rearview mirror and caught their hands laced together. 

When Bard shot a look to Thorin and subtly gestured at them. Thorin raised an eyebrow at him. They managed to come to some kind of mutual acceptance in their silent conversation, before Thorin’s eyes slid shut and he fell into some kind of doze. 

The van rattled and shook over the dark road, a thin metal shell of protection around his family.


	2. Chapter 2

When he was younger, he might’ve obsessed over when to call with all sorts of theories about desperation and coolness. Adulthood had taught him the power of promptness and how quickly postponement could become regret. 

Bard called the next afternoon on his lunch break. 

“Greenleaf Vineyards, how may I direct your call?” A crisp woman answered. 

“I’d like to speak to Thranduil. This is Bard Bowman.” 

“One moment, Mr. Bowman.” 

The hold music was a rich chorus singing in Italian and they were reaching a crescendo when Thranduil’s voice cut through them abruptly. 

“You’re prompt.” 

“When I can be,” Bard agreed. “I missed the final postings on the 1000 meter. How’d he do?” 

“Second,” Thranduil sounded mildly amused by this close call. 

“Who was first?” 

“Tauriel. She’s a...hm. Ward is such an old fashioned word, don’t you think? But we’ve never resolved to a better one. Her parents were old friends and when they passed away last year, no one else could take her in. ” 

“Wait...is she the red head?” 

“That’s her, yes.” 

The small drama of the other made more sense. If Thrauduil was supposed to be loco parentis to the girl than Legolas’ crush must create quite the awkward dinner conversation. 

“Good for her,” was all he said. “I didn’t know it was a co-ed race.” 

“It wasn’t. Tauriel staged a protest against gender segregation in sports last year and now they let her run in any race she puts herself into.” 

“She sounds like an interesting girl.” 

“You could say that,” there’s a fondness lacing through that exasperation, something Bard knew too well. “But you didn’t call to talk about her.” 

“True. I was wondering if you’d like to get lunch together someday soon?” 

“Lunch? Isn’t dinner traditional?” 

“It might be, but I’m not much company by then.” 

“Oh?” 

“Up at 3am, fish, home at 6am to get the kids off to school, market to sell what I’ve caught, deliveries, lunch, deliveries, play chauffeur, help with homework, oversee dinner. Sleep. Hopefully. Eight pm is bedtime, not get myself together to go out.” 

“Noted.” There was a long pause and Bard inserted doubts into it. They were clearly not from the same strata. He didn’t have an abundance of free time to start a relationship. Perhaps it was simply not meant to be. “You come to the vineyard on Fridays? At...hm. Precesely 2pm every week? You are prompt, according to these notes.” 

“It’s how I stay in business.” 

“Well, come early next week. We can have lunch here.” 

“Not exactly me taking you out,” Bard pointed out. “Hardly traditional.” 

“It’s an nontraditional situation. And I cannot endure the idea that you haven’t tasted my wine.”

“Ah!” Bard grinned down at his soggy sandwich and cola. “Well it can only be an improvement over today’s luncheon.” 

“My assistant furnished me with a calzone,” the disapproval was obvious. 

“You don’t like calzones?” 

“I don’t like ones stuffed with greasy sausage and subpar cheese.” 

“Yet, you carry on. Such endurance.” 

“Your sarcasm will not be forgotten,” Thranduil said dryly. 

“I should hope not. It’s my best character trait.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” it was a stroking purr that went right down Bard’s spine. “Friday?” 

“Friday,” Bard agreed. 

Friday. Fuck. Three days, Bard laughed at himself when the call ended. He was too old to feel giddy and hot with anticipation. He had the rest of a day’s work to level him out and his children to remind him that he was still mostly a utility player in the game of life. 

Still. The promise of something new added spark to the rest of the week, made the mundane seem lighter, better. Sigrid started eyeing him suspiciously, but her usual attunement was thrown off by her own prospective dating life. Every time she came close to asking, Bard would look meaningfully at her buzzing phone and she’d be checking a text message. 

“Ugh,” Bain weighed in on Thursday night. “Sigs, you gotta put it down and help me with geometry or I’m gonna fail.” 

“I don’t,” she wrinkled her nose and shot something back to Fili, then set the phone aside with clear regret. 

“I actually do know a thing or two about math,” Bard started.

“No, you don’t,” Sigrid and Bain said as a unit. Even Tilda looked up from her homework to look disbelieving at him. 

“You’re okay up to division,” Sigrid said gently. 

“Ungrateful brats,” he exhaled. “See if I help you on another history test ever again.” 

“Aw, Dad,” Tilda smiled at him. “You’re still the best at dioramas.” 

“There’s a life skill.” 

Friday morning started out bleak. His usual spots had been coming up dry more and more often. The river used to renew itself, but there were more boats out these days trying to scrape together a living. He’d have to hunt down new places and pray they got him through the next few years. Just until Tilda got to college was his mantra, a wistful prayer said over empty nets. 

The market brought little relief as other fisherman turned up with diminished returns and hollow eyed looks. He commiserated with a few of them over cheap coffee and then bowed out to begin his deliveries. It was a lucky thing that other fishers hadn’t decided to start poaching this other business. Perhaps they hadn’t thought of it or thought it was lucrative enough. 

Or perhaps they didn’t like the idea of fighting upstream alone to load boxes and barrels onto a slippery deck. Having a partner would’ve cut too deep in Bard’s already limited profits. Luckily, his reputation got him clients and his reliability secured them. 

The vineyards pickup was usually one of his last stops on Fridays, but it wasn’t hard to reorder things. He appeared at the dock to find the barrels neatly stacked and Tauriel sitting on top of one. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” 

“Half-day,” she regarded him with keen interest. “Would you like some help?” 

“Usually Figwit lends a hand.” 

“I told him to take a hike,” she jumped off the barrel and pushed it gently onto it’s side with ease. “I wanted to know what Thranduil was up to.” 

“Up to?” He rolled the barrel down the ramp and into the rig he’d set up to catch and stack them. 

“He doesn’t get involved in anything like day to day details. I think they bore him. Suddenly, he’s pestering poor Figgy about delivery dates.” 

“And you suspect what?” 

“Nothing. Just...” she looked out over the river than back to Bard. 

“Just what?” He asked gently, the same way he’d try to bring along Tilda when she was chewing over something heavy. 

“It’s my job to watch this place,” she settled on.

“Watch for what?” 

She shrugged again. 

“Thranduil said you were his ward?” He tried. 

“He talked to you?” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s...deeply weird.” 

“Thanks,” he laughed. 

“No, it’s not you-” She halted. “He just. Doesn’t.” 

“Talk?” 

“That would make it hard to get by in the world,” Thranduil walked down the dock. Tauriel flushed bright red. “Thank you for helping, Tauriel. Many hands make light work. Shall we?” 

To Bard and Tauriel’s surprise, Thranduil pushed down a barrel and rolled it down the ramp. He was wearing fine grey slacks and a lavender button down that had a faint shimmer when it caught the light. Somehow, he aided them in getting all the wine safely aboard without breaking a sweat. 

“Marathons,” Bard grinned at him. "Which you entirely gave up years ago.” 

“I may have a treadmill,” Thranduil allowed, one side of his lip twitching. 

Tauriel stared at them, shook her head and turned tail. She disappeared into the grapes, a spot of red amid green then gone. 

“She seems wary of you,” Bard ventured. 

“She thinks she has to protect me,” Thranduil snorted. “Her parents were killed violently. I suspect some of that has carried over. I’ve attempted to talk to her, but I’m not...comforting.”

“What about Legolas? Someone her own age?” 

“They are not the same age. Perhaps in years, but...no. She is far older than my son.” 

“Sigrid can be like that. But she’s still a child under the surface, you know?” 

“Mmm. Lunch?” 

“Yes. Please.” 

They walked through the vineyard and it was remarkably pleasant. Thranduil had a way of carrying himself as though the muddy ground were marble and the vines lines of subjects. His hands stayed behind his back, one in the other. It made Bard want to ruffle him a little, shake loose the crisp lines. 

There walk did not take them to the main building, but to a small outhouse with a charming cottage exterior and interior that proved to be full of large wooden vats. Stray dessicated grapes littered the floor. 

“The presses,” Thranduil gestured. “And here is lunch.” 

A table in the middle of the room had been set with a bounty of fruit, slices of cured meat, cheese and bread. 

“Tuscan,” Thraduil folded himself into a chair, one foot tucked under the opposing thigh. It was surprisingly loose and casual. Bard relaxed into his own chair. “I traveled to Florence last summer to meet with one of the finest red vintners. I learned some, but mostly I ate.” 

“I can see why if this what it was like,” Bard popped a bright slice of strawberry into his mouth along with a sharp cheese. “Florence...lot of art, right?” 

“Yes,” Thranduil nibbled on a cracker. “I admit I’m not much of a connoisseur there. My fine tastes are only on the palette.” 

“One up on me. I don’t think any of my tastes could be called ‘fine’.” 

“Perhaps your taste in men,” Thranduil said lightly. 

It took Bard a second before he laughed. 

“I don’t know. It’s probably too small a sampler,” he admitted. “There was someone before my wife, but no one after.” 

“How long?” 

“Eleven years. Cancer,” he hesitated, but the evidence had been clear. “You?” 

“Fourteen years. She was a police officer. Her partner was Tauriel’s father. She was stabbed, he nearly saved her, but the ambulance got caught in traffic,” Thranduil shook his head. “There are so many kinds of banal evil in the world.” 

“Hilda,” Bard said softly. 

“Valerie,” Thranduil sighed. 

“To the dead,” Bard raised his glass of water, the wine still unpoured. 

“To the dead.” 

Their glasses clinked together. Their conversation turned away, the air well cleared of their history. 

“Now,” Thranduil picked up a carafe. “This is our white.” 

“Pour light,” Bard said as Thranduil hefted it up. “I do have an afternoon a work ahead of me.” 

“Just a taste,” Thranduil agreed. 

The white was good though Bard was hardly a judge. It had a nice light flavor and it went well with their lunch. Thranduil told him about the process of creation as they ate, his long fingers drawing pictures in the air. It was a bit of a monologue, but a fascinating one and it gave Bard plenty of time to study Thranduil’s expressions. He wasn’t an emotive man, but Bard found comfort in that. Everyone in his life lived at maximum volume, Thranduil’s restrained passion for his work was a refreshing change. 

“But what about this red?” Bard asked at last. 

“Hm. Not ready yet,” Thranduil admitted. “I can sell what I have, but I wouldn’t put our main label on it. I don’t wish to have it available until it’s perfect.” 

“And when do you see that happening?” 

“Another year. It’s not done aging.” 

“It must take incredible patience to bring a wine along.” 

“There’s a vintage my father began,” Thranduil leaned back in his chair, the glass held loosely between his fingers. “That he knew he would never taste. He wanted it aged sixty years. I opened it three year ago.” 

“And?” 

“Half of it was divine. The other half had gone to vinegar,” Thranduil shook his head. “The nature of the beast.” 

“It’s like raising children,” Bard realized. “All that time and effort, all the care and love and you’re still not sure how it will turn out.” 

“Except children have mind’s of their own. At least grapes must obey chemistry.” 

“As the river must obey physics,” Bard agreed. 

It all came to an end too quickly for Bard’s liking. Thranduil walked him back to his boat and Bard found the wine had managed to get to his head a little. He didn’t feel drunk, but there was a bit of a gauzy layer over reality. He would have to take it easy downstream. It did make their last moment together far easier to resolve though. 

“I hope you can stop by next week,” Thranduil’s hands were still at the small of his back, but there was a softness in the set of his shoulders now. 

“I look forward to it,” Bard leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Thranduil’s lips. 

The skin was a soft as Bard had imagined. 

“That was bold,” Thranduil’s hands dropped from their position and one reached for Bard’s wrist, fingers wrapping around it. 

“Unwanted?” 

“No,” Thranduil tugged him forward, into a kiss that warmed Bard from his lips to his thighs. 

“I should-” 

“Go,” Thranduil agreed, kissed him once more than deftly turned him around. “Next week, Bard.” 

“Next week,” he kept his footing and untied the boat by pure muscle memory. When he looked up again, Thranduil was nearly off the dock. Yet he turned at the last moment, raising a hand in farewell.

Bard waved back and savored the image as his steady ship carried him back home.


	3. Chapter 3

Bard stood in doorway, his keys still heavy between his fingers. Most of the small houses lights were off, but for the dim glow of their solitary lamp in the living room. It had been one of a matched set once until Bain had tripped over a cord and send it’s twin to the dumpster. Bard kept meaning to pick up another. 

So his daughter’s face was only half lit where it lay on Fili’s lap. Her schoolbooks were open on the coffee table and a pen still held limply in her hand. Fili’s head was tipped backwards and his eyes were closed. Their clothes were unmussed, their lips not rubbed red. They hadn’t had so much as a soda from the fridge, two glasses of water sitting side by side on the coffee table carefully away from their homework. 

Bard’s chest ached. He stepped carefully inside and pulled the door closed behind him. When he turned around again, Fili’s eyes were open and his cheeks pink. 

“I shouldn’t’ve fallen asleep,” he said quietly, “only she looked so tired, I didn’t want to wake her and then-” 

“It’s fine,” Bard swallowed hard. “Will your mother be worried?” 

“She’s working late, but I should get home now.” Fili reached down reluctantly. 

“You don’t have to.. here,” 

Bard came around the couch and slid his arms under his daughter. It had been a long time since he’d carried her, but his arms still remembered. How tall she was now, how grown. Yet, she turned her face into his shoulder as if she were small again. 

“Don’t tell her that I did this,” Bard whispered. 

“Definitely not,” Fili agreed and they shared a small smile, before Fili turned to gather his books. 

Bard walked down the hall, careful of the looser floorboards and settled Sigrid in her bed on top of the covers. She rolled over, curling small. 

“Daddy?” Tilda mumbled across the room. 

“Yes, honey?” 

“Can you sign my permission slip? I have a field trip.” 

“I’ll sign it in the morning,” he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” 

He peeked his head into Bain’s room, the tiny space that might’ve been better off as a large closet and found him snoring, one socked foot pushed out from the covers. Bard adjusted the blanket then retreated to his bed, unmade and cold with no time to warm up before he was sinking into sleep. 

The next morning, his nets yielded a little more and the extra cash from working the bar for Tom the night counted out in the light day eased him a little. The call on his phone as he headed upstream served him better. 

“Hello,” he wedged the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “What’s earned me the pleasure?” 

“I’m afraid I have to cancel our luncheon tomorrow,” Thranduil sighed, a sound that managed regret and annoyance in the same breath. “I must show my face at some meeting or another.” 

“How terrible for you.” 

“It truly is,” Thranduil said blithely. “I have come to enjoy our Fridays and I am a bit of a creature of habit.” 

“Suppose I am too since I look forward to them too.” 

“You sound tired.” 

“I am,” it was Bard’s turn to sigh. “I worked behind a bar last night as a favor and it isn’t that we can’t use the money, but I feel...I don’t know. Wrong about it.”

“Oh?” 

And that tiny syllable was enough. Bard told him about Sigrid then, how responsible she had become, how punishing on herself. How he feared she would come to resent him. 

“I mean, what teenager doesn’t make out with their boyfriend when he’s over on a weekday night?” He despaired. “It’s not normal.” 

“You want your daughter to be sexually active?” 

“No! I mean, I don’t, but I’m not really sure that I have any control over- that’s not really the issue. I want her to...enjoy things. Not be forced into mothering her siblings.” 

“You don’t force her to do anything,” Thranduil said, crisp and practical. “She’s nearly a woman grown and she makes her own choices. Another girl would’ve waited for Tilda to go to sleep then snuck off somewhere with her beau.” 

“Beau?” 

“What? 

“No. Nothing,” Bard smiled to himself. “You’re right, I guess.” 

“She’s a credit to you. And much like you, takes her responsibilities seriously. So if you’re proposing to change her situation in some fundamental way, I would infer that she would react poorly.” 

“Just because I won’t take charity from you-” 

“Yes, I heard the speech the first time,” Thranduil sighed as if this was all very dull. “I’m learning from experience. Though I would point out that offering to buy you new jeans was more a selfish overture than one of pity.” 

“Get ‘em for your birthday then.” The water slapped against the boat’s hull as reassuring as the beating of his own heart. “Thanks.I really needed this phone call.” 

“Hm, considering I called to cancel on you, I’m not sure what that means.” 

“It means that I like hearing the sound of your voice,” Bard tilted his head back into the sun’s warmth. “So next Friday then?” 

“That seems far too long.” 

“Well, what can we do?” 

“Mm.” 

Bard had taken that syllable for vague agreement which in hindsight was a mistake. The rest of his Thursday passed in an industrious blur, but Friday was more of a chore than it had been in weeks. They had only shared a month worth of lunches, but they’d already irretrievably altered Bard’s weeks. He counted on the interlude of peace and conversation, charged with the slow burning fire between them. 

Usually Friday nights were dedicated to popcorn and a movie with the kids piled around him on the couch. Maybe it wasn’t fancy or a date night, but he liked the tradition. He made it home at six, prepared to pitch in with dinner and found the front door cracked open. 

“Hello?” He called, the living room utterly vacant as he stepped inside. There was a pile of coats on the little end table towering over the usual stack. One he recognized as Fili’s, inherited from Thorin it was battered brown leather and bedraggled fur collar, then another similar in dimension that might be Kili’s if he had to guess. Three more still were more deliberately thrown on, each softly grey and buttery to the touch. 

Voices layered over each other, too many in too small a space. Their dining room barely squeezed enough chairs around the table for them let alone guests. He moved forward cautiously, found their little kitchen spilling over with delicious smelling trays of food. Sigrid and Tauriel were hip to hip, laughing loudly about something as they spooned food onto Chinet plates. 

“Hello,” he said, eyebrows raised. 

“Dad! Why didn’t you tell us that we were going to have a party?” 

Thranduil appeared before Bard could get a word in edgewise. He looked utterly wrong leaning against the yellowed refrigerator in his dress pants and silk shirt. 

“I’m afraid I might have misled your children on your level of awareness of our arrival.” 

“Might have?” 

“Did.” Thranduil conceded. “I didn’t think you’d mind. Dinner is the genius of Tauriel and my son getting out early from school and somehow winding up in the farmer’s market. Far too much for the three of us to eat alone.” 

“You have to try Tauriel’s soup,” Sigrid offered him out a bowl. “It’s awesome.” 

“Fresh leeks,” Tauriel shrugged and Bard had to take it then and sip it. He understood the certain kind of deprecation that Tauriel excelled at. 

“This is amazing,” he didn’t have to lie and Tauriel looked well pleased with the compliment. 

The girls brushed passed Thranduil to rejoin the loud throng in the dining room. 

“You didn’t have to-” 

“I wanted to see you,” Thranduil interrupted. “I did not anticipate how much I would regret our missed meeting. It seems I’ve come to require it.” 

“So have I,” Bard confessed. 

“Then come and eat with us. Then we can settle the children in front of some television drek and talk a little.” 

The food was good, but the company was better. Not only did Bard eat with Thranduil squeezed in beside him on piano bench, so close that he could catch the smell of grapes on his skin, but his children were wildly happy. Tauriel settled in beside Kili and spent the entire meal being both utterly poised and rendered mute whenever he spoke. Bard always thought of Kili as slightly ridiculous, but he seemed different when Tauriel turned her gaze to him. As if he was trying to grow up all at once. 

Fili and Sigrid sat across from each other and Bard was warmed to see how Fili grabbed the best of each dish to offer to her, poured her soda and generally fell over himself. 

Legolas was tucked into a corner and spent the evening speaking softly to Bain and occasionally looking up to stare at his own father with a look of mild confusion. 

“He’s not sure why he’s here, is he?” Bard asked, confident that the children were ignoring them. 

“I haven’t said anything,” Thranduil sighed. “But I suppose I should now. He’s...resistant to change much of the time. I’m not sure how he’ll take it.” 

“You don’t have to tell him.” 

“I do,” beneath the table, Thranduil rested his hand on top of Bard’s with the faintest of pressure. “Don’t I?” 

And it was a complicated question in many ways, but Bard could only nod. He would have to tell his brood soon as well though they’d be slower to ask questions and probably less upset by the answers. 

The kids split up after dinner, small groups clustering out various screens once the everything was neatly slotted into the garbage. Bard walked the bags to the curb. The stars were out in force bright around a sickle moon. He paused to look up, dimly aware of footsteps on the pavement behind him. 

Thranduil wrapped his arms around Bard’s waist and set his chin on Bard’s shoulder. Though Thranduilt was thin, he was heavy enough. Yet, Bard felt not heavier, but impossibly lighter. 

“Thank you,” he put his hand over Thranduil’s. 

“It was for my own pleasure,” Thranduil laughed. “You’ll find I’m quite selfish, much of the time.” 

Bard turned careful not to jar Thranduil too much. He wanted him to stay close. 

The kiss wasn’t revelatory, but it was very good. Thranduil had a surety that Bard appreciated. After tonight, Bard felt rather sure himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, I know, but it was this or not updating at all. Apparently babies are time sucks, who knew?

The bags piled up by the front door as Bard ticked back over the list. 

“Sneakers?” He called out. 

“Yes!” “Uh huh.” Echoed Bain and Sigrid. Tilda as sitting on the back of the couch, her dufflebag already neatly packed the night before when Bard got home. 

“Uniforms?” 

“You said that one twice already!” Bain called from his room. 

“We’re not doing a repeat of last year. Double check.” 

“Ugh,” Bain groaned, but reappeared a moment later holding his t-shirt and a sheepish look. Bard only lifted an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ve got mine,” Sigrid unzipped her bag to show him. 

She had forgotten hair ties though and none of them had toothpaste. Bard tried not to think too hard about the fact that they’d soon be away at college. Hopefully they’d recall dental hygiene before they came back home for holiday breaks. 

“Dad?” Tilda was frowning at her bag. 

“What’s up?” 

“Do I have to be on the track team next year?” 

“What?” Bard ground to a halt and switched tracks. “No, of course not. Why?” 

“You’re so...I dunno. You spend so much time with Sig and Bain doing it. If I do something else, you won’t have time.” 

“There’s always time,” he said firmly and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She clung hard to him. “For all of you.” 

“Kay,” she sighed and relaxed. “Even if I want to do drama?” 

“Even then,” he agreed. 

“Even though you hate Shakespeare?” 

“I don’t hate him,” Bard laughed. “I just don’t understand it, but if you’re doing it then you can explain it to me, right?” 

“Right.” 

That crisis averted, he was then onto trying to pack the van like a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Fili appeared somewhere around the half hour mark and did such an able job helping that Bard caved as soon as Sigrid confessed that she’d promised him a seat. 

“Thorin has to come tomorrow,” she explained, eyes downcast. “But it’s so much better if you go out the night before, you know?” 

“Mhm,” he’d frowned and looked serious until she was squirming than clapped Fili on the shoulder. “Get in or I’ll just be looking at sad eyes in the rearview mirror.” 

“Thanks, sir!” 

“You’re not hiding Kili in the baggage or something, are you?” 

“No, sir. He wouldn’t have the patience for something like that.” 

“Of course.” 

Tilda sat in the front passenger seat, looking out the window for most of the drive. It seemed like a good thoughtful, so he let her at it and listened to Alan Cumming narrate a book about Sri Lanka to him. The discs from the library were scratched and occasionally skipped, but he could make out enough to be lulled into another place and time while the road rolled under the tires. 

The motel sign beckoned them in and there were a jumble of familiar cars already in the lot. Bard spotted Thranduil’s sleek Jaguar tucked in among the practical sedans and dirty minivans. He got his phone out and sent a quick text. 

“Everyone still okay with the sleeping arrangements?” He asked, carefully neutral. 

“Yes, Dad,” they chorused. He couldn’t make out their faces in the dark, but he heard no tension or annoyance. 

The conversation, as he’d predicted, hadn’t been terribly painful. After Thraunduil’s surprise dinner, they had all seemed to have questions on the tip of their tongues and he didn’t let that fester long. He’d sat them down a few nights later, 

“I’ve decided to start seeing Thranduil romantically. I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out. Questions?” 

“Will we have to move?” Tilda had asked. 

“No, of course not. Even if we decided to live together, it would be after you’re all out of the house.” 

“Do you like him?” Sigrid asked with a grin. “Is he nice to you? Can I threaten to beat him up if he’s not?” 

“Only if you can follow through on the threat,” he stuck his tongue out her and that seemed to break the gathering tension. 

Later, Bain came into his room and sat on the end of the bed. It took him a long time to form his question and what followed was a complicated conversation about sexuality and gender that they probably should’ve had ages before.   
None of them mentioned their mother and he didn’t bring her up. There would be world enough and time for those conversations if their relationship went beyond their current casual arrangement. 

But this was different. Instead of their usual stuffed in one room arrangement, Thranduil had convinced him to a more pleasing distribution with Sigrid and Tilda bunking with Tauriel and Bard sharing a room with Legolas and two other teammates. It kept Bard’s share of the cost about the same (“Assuaging your stubborn pride,” as Thranduil had put it with a fond eye roll) and finally give them an entire night together. 

Bard hadn’t let himself think about it. 

He didn’t think about it as he watched Bain run to meet his friends. He didn’t think about it as he unloaded Sigrid and Tilda’s bags. He didn’t think about it as he walked the girls to their room and watched Tilda try to repress her excitement as Tauriel unveiled a bag full of neon colored nailpolish. He didn’t think about it as Fili and Sigrid made their awkward goodbyes nor as Tilda shooed him away. 

He walked to room fifteen and just when he thought all the nerves and tension would finally find a way in through his carefully composed dam, Thranduil opened the door. 

“Were you watching out the window?” 

“Perhaps,” Thranduil allowed, licking his lips. “You should...” 

“Yeah,” he stepped inside, straight into Thranduil’s personal space. “Hi.” 

The door slammed closed behind them. 

“Hello,” Thranduil’s eyes roved over his face as if checking off some mental list. Bard waited through the inspection. “I have a proposal.” 

“You don’t have to ask for my hand to take me to bed,” Bard grinned. “I’m easier than that.” 

“Hilarious,” Thranduil rolled his eyes. 

“Sorry, sorry. What’s your propsal?” 

“Let’s go straight to bed. Anything we do now will only be...awkward otherwise.” 

“Didn’t know you wanted into my pants that bad.” 

“I cannot recall the last time I wanted something quite this badly.” 

The admission was so bald that Bard felt as if they’d already stripped naked. 

“Yeah, me too,” he swallowed. “Alright. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” 

Taking off his clothes with Thranduil watching was a strange experience. He had mostly ignored his body for the last eight years, letting the wrinkles and folds fall where they may. To look at his own strong legs and rounded stomach as a lover might took some mental contortion. Thranduil seemed appreciative enough, long fingered hands running covetously over his skin. 

He was surprised by the simple humanness that revealed itself under Thranduil’s starched shirt and crisp pants. He pressed his lips not to perfect deltoids and abs, but points of bone with skin stretched between them. The burn scars that brushed lightly over Thranduil’s face were worse further down, mottling shoulder and chest. 

“The marks of battle,” Thranduil said with only a little bitterness. 

Bard pressed a hand over the worst of it and kissed the taste out of his mouth. 

They took their time and the ugly bedspread sagged to the floor as they learned each other. It was passionate without the heady overwhelming fire that threatened to consume. Thranduil preferred positions that left him dominate and Bard tried to relent where he could and keep the struggle playful when he couldn’t. 

Cars came in and out of the parking lot, sending bright light strobing over them at unexpected moments. Here was Thranduil’s smile thrust into sudden focus, the turn of his hip softening again into the darkness. 

When they were done, Thranduil walked naked to the windows and pulled the blackout curtain shut. But for an instant before he did, his entire body was wreathed in a fluorescent glow. For a breath, he was utterly gorgeous and inhuman with it. Then the car turned off it’s engine, the curtain fell shut and he was crawling back under the sheets, his all too humanly cold feet brushing against Bard’s calves. 

“I’ve been told that I talk in my sleep,” Thranduil said as he wrapped a possessive arm around Bard’s chest. “Legolas claims I count wine barrels.” 

“That’s alright, my nose whistles in a charming fashion. We’ll balance out.” 

There was something primally relaxing about another body curved warm next to his in the bed. Maybe he snored and maybe Thranduil babbled about barrels, but neither of them heard the other. 

Bard dreamed of a party buried deep in the woods attended only by enormous stags that lapped up rivers of wine.


End file.
